


The Past Does Not Define Us

by BlueEyedArcher



Series: Outlast One-Shots [51]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Police, Bargaining, Beating, Blood and Injury, Bruises, Criminal!Waylon, Detective!Eddie - Freeform, Fist Fights, Gangs, Hacking, Handcuffs, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Interrogation, M/M, One Shot, Organized Crime, Physical Abuse, Shootings, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 11:25:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13926171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: Detective Eddie Gluskin has a tough case involving a young man caught up in the criminal underworld just looking to get out before he becomes another body in the streets. But getting the young man to open up to him to help is another situation all together.





	The Past Does Not Define Us

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one shot scene that popped into my head after seeing some fan art of Eddie in handcuffs in an interrogation room and wanted to see a flip side where Waylon is the one in handcuffs and Eddie is the one playing good cop/bad cop. I wasn't really sure where to go with it to be honest. I might come back later and pick it up for a longer piece. But for now, here it is. Let me know what you think.

The room was quiet, a cold sterile feeling to the far too white walls and the metal table set before him. His pale blue eyes reflected back in the two way mirror. A camera was pressed up into the corner, watching over him like a silent sentinel. The head of wily blonde locks was dampened from the rain outside. The seemingly endless storms that tormented the mountains this time of year. The creeping chill of droplets still sliding down his spine and dripping to the surface in front of him, pooling around the handcuffs and from the sopping wet sleeves. His cheek was smudged and swollen, a bruise forming across his jaw, nose bleeding with the blood dried and crusted above his lip, a black eye was already present from days earlier. His hands were bloodied, the knuckles swollen and split open. Refreshed by the scuffle when he tried to flee. His jeans ripped wide open in the knees, one pant leg split up the seam along his legs and more cuts and scrapes followed as the fence he tried to climb bowed and caught his leg in the process. The one thing that kept him from getting away from those foreboding red and blue lights.

 

He sniffled, his body ached all over and the chill was unbearable. His skin was chafing where the wet jeans rubbed against, making it raw in the process. He squirmed uneasily in the cold hard metal seat, his head bowed with wet locks dropping down in front of his eyes. There was no clock to tell him the time though he knew for a fact it was some hours past midnight. He bent forward, wincing at the twinge in his back from his topple over the fence, the back of his head had a bump on it from hitting the bar, igniting a throbbing pain in the recesses of his mind. 

 

He didn’t look up when the door opened across the room. The scent of stale old coffee filled the room from down the hall, possibly a little ways from the police break room. A cup of water was placed before him, a peace offering as the officer addressed him in a firm voice of authority. “Good evening. My name’s Detective Gluskin and I will be carrying out this interrogation.” The greeting was autopilot for the detective. A formality they went through every time they entered a room to conduct an interrogation of a suspect. He rifled through a file in hand, the pictures within were of a young man, far more clean cut with a frown on his features. Nothing compared to the rough and wild appearance of the man before him now. “Would you like to start out with telling me your name?” The detective asked, hoping for a little bit of cooperation. 

 

His hopes were dashed when the young man remained silent. His gaze never raised to meet the officer but he could see the way he looked in the reflection of the two way mirror. The detective was big, bigger than any man he has ever met before. Hair slicked back neatly down the middle of his head, the sides and back of his head were shaved, giving him a very clean look. He wore dark trousers and a white dress shirt. A button up vest in the front with black holsters that went around his torso, leaving the firearm tucked under his bicep. His badge was hanging around his neck on a chain. All in all, a very frightening man. The kind he would better expect to find on the other side of the law, working under a mob boss or drug lord. He couldn’t get a clear sight on his facial features from the sideways angle but he had a strong jaw structure and high cheekbones. 

 

Detective Gluskin sighed when the young man continued to be silent. He opened the file, dark blue eyes scanning over the information on the front page. “Waylon Park, a.k.a The Techie, a.k.a The Whistleblower, a.k.a Way Way.” 

 

“Don’t call me that.” It was the first words to leave the blonde’s lips, a cold growl at the last nick name mentioned. It was humiliating to hear it brought up but with it were many harsh memories that followed. It was a nickname he was given by someone who meant a lot to him once upon a time, the person who invited him into this life and who left him behind in it. His fingers curled into tight fists, jostling the handcuffs to softly clink against the surface of the table. 

 

“So you do speak?” The detective prodded, leaning back into his seat as he folded his arms expectantly. Eyes fixed on the young blonde before looking back down at the file. “Do you know why we arrested you today Waylon?” The young man turned his head away, continuing to ignore the detective and drawing a frustrated sigh from his chest. Waylon shivered as another droplet slipped down his neck and wiggled cold fingers across his spine.The detective continued to read off the file, stating his background loud and clear. “You were top of your class in Mount Massive High School. Won a full ride scholarship for robotics and programming. Dropped out before the end of your senior year. A month later you were picked up for hacking into the servers for a small time business using the wifi at a cafe. Simple enough prank, it was waved off with a warning.”

 

Waylon shifted in his seat, his handcuffs moving from the top of the table to resting in his lap beneath. His head turned away, gaze fixed on the floor as the mess of blonde locks started to dry, long tangled curls drooping in front of his face. Detective Gluskin continued. “Later you were caught up in multiple thefts, involving technology and downloading illegal files from businesses and dispersing them across the internet. Served community service and given yet another warning with considerable fines to follow.” As he continued to read off, there were more mentions of theft, some charges for getting into fights in public, running from the police, ditching court dates, etc. The list goes on but there was nothing involving drugs or any majorly violent crimes. Just the typical rough housing in the streets that young men his age often do. 

 

“You’re a smart kid Waylon. Smart enough to know when you’ve been caught yet you still ran from us.” The detective closed the file and set it aside, leaning forward into the table. His hands resting on the surface, folded neatly as he continued. “Help us out, and we can help clear this little mess up for you.” He bargained. Still no response. “This offer won’t be on the table for long Waylon. If you don’t take it, you’ll be sitting in prison for a long time. A kid like you won’t last in there. Believe me, it’ll be hell. No friends. No gangs or groups to back you up. You’re vulnerable in a place like that. Especially with your looks. Somebody is going to snatch you up in a heartbeat and it won’t be pretty.” If the nice guy act wasn’t going to cut it, then the detective had to push a little harder. Hoping the rational mind of the young man will kick in where his own pride falls short. 

 

The silence extended, Waylon’s face remained turned away from the detective. He pressed his non-bruised cheek into his shoulder, adding to the frustration the elder male was feeling. He stood up suddenly, feeling as if he was getting nowhere. Taking his time to collect the file into a neat stack and turning towards the door. “You’ll be sitting in front of the judge first thing in the morning.” The detective warned, gripping the handle on the door and pushing it open, letting the warmer air of the hallway and the smell of coffee waft inside. 

 

“Wait!” The voice was a weak plea. Exactly what the detective was waiting for. He continued to move through the threshold, to press the hopelessness of his suspects situation before the words he was hoping for finally came forth. “Please, I- I’ll talk.”

 

The detective turned around to face the young man but he wasn’t expecting the sight before him to hit him so hard. As the door clicked back shut behind him, he heard the soft sniffling and saw the tears trailing down a battered and bloodied face. Eyes a glacial blue swelling up, red and irritated around the crystal pools. The dark bruising around his one eye was a stark contrast between the pristine blue and the pallor of the rest of his body. He looked sick or on the verge of it. Waylon raised his hand to wipe the tears from his face as he shivered again, ducking his head to avoid the officer’s gaze. The detective felt his stomach wrench, tightening up as he spoke quickly. “I’ll be back in a minute. Hold on.”

 

He turned back to the door and slipped out into the hall, leaving Waylon to try and recollected himself. A few more tears fell as he scrubbed at his skin with the damp ends of his sleeve, hitting tender wounds drawing a hiss from his chest. A few minutes passed before the door opened back up again. The detective entered with a cup in hand, steam rising up off of it with a towel draped over his arm and another folded piece of fabric balancing on top of that. It was dark grey and thicker then the towel. He placed the cup on the table in front of Waylon with a straw sticking up out of it, the smell of something sweet and chocolaty hit his nostrils and added to his confusion. “Sorry, but I wasn’t sure if you were a coffee drinker. This should help warm you up.” He gestured for Waylon’s hands, removing the cuffs before sitting the towel down beside the drink and what happened to be a police department sweatshirt. About two sizes too big for him but he didn’t mind as long as it was warm and dry. 

 

The detective watched the young man as he proceeded to dry off, peeling his soaked hoody up over his shoulders, exposing the lithe and far too skinny frame of a young man that hasn’t had a good meal in a long time. A far cry from the fit and healthy fellow in the file. He scrubbed out the water from his locks using the towel and removed the wet t-shirt that was sticking to his torso, letting it fall into a heap on the floor with the hoody. His torso was littered in bruises and cuts all over. Some of which looked like he had taken a boot to the side. Detective Gluskin could almost distinguish the individual treads of the shoe from the marks on Waylon’s hip and ribs. Waylon dried off as much as he could comfortably, before pulling the larger sweatshirt over his lithe frame and relishing in the soft interior fabric and the warmth that followed. He cradled the cup of hot chocolate in between his palms as he rasped out a weary. “Thank you.” He did like coffee in fact, but he couldn’t remember the last time he had hot chocolate. It was comforting as he took the first sip and let it pool down into his stomach, spreading throughout his chilled body. 

 

“Now then, back to business.” Detective Gluskin resumed his seat across from his suspect as he continued where he left off. “It doesn’t matter what you did in your past Waylon. The past doesn’t define who we are. What matters is what you do with the present that defines us as people.” The detective stated in a matter-of-fact tone and for the first time all night, he had Waylon’s full attention on him. Well, somewhat. It was split between the drink and the detective, one of which the younger male seemed to be positively enjoying. “We want you to work for us Waylon. You have information about certain groups that would be invaluable to us. We can wipe clean everything on your record if you help us.”

 

“You want me to betray Walrider?” He asked, sitting his drink down for the first time since picking it up. His eyes downcast as he ran his thumb along the rim of the cup, observing the dark froth that gathered along the sides with every sip as the liquid went down. “I could be killed if they find out.”

 

“We’ll protect you.” Detective Gluskin interjected. “You’ll be under our authority. You’ll be wired and there will be safety measures to ensure nothing goes wrong.”

 

“I want to...to help you. I really do.” His tone dropped lower, his shoulders hunched up and his grip on the cup tightened. He paused, feeling the ache of emotions rising in his throat as all of his fears and frustrations were bubbling up to the surface. “They’re responsible for the death of my best friend.” He murmured, moving his hand away from the cup to catch the forming tears before they could fall. In his mind were images, burned in the back of his brain. Flashes of dark brown locks stained with blood and the deafening bang of gunshots. A leather jacket turned to shreds by the hail of gunfire. Blood pooling across the concrete, seeping into the cracks as the smell of tires burned out and the screech of brakes as the vehicle careened around the corner and out of sight. There was so much blood, Waylon could only stare in horror. The wail of sirens in the distance and screams from bystanders. They were blaring in his ears and it took a long time for him to realize that his own had joined them. Attempting to gather his friend up into his arms, palms pressing against the many newly formed holes to staunch the blood flow, to feel for his heart in his chest but Miles was gone before he even hit the ground. He hadn’t even a chance. 

 

“Miles Upshur, a young man with a promising future in journalistic writing. He was a troublemaker but not more than any other teenager his age. It got him mixed up with the wrong people. I remember his case. It’s been almost a full year now.” Detective Gluskin spoke sympathetically. Waylon broke at the mention of his friend’s name, the onslaught of tears hitting him hard with a choking sob. He buried his face into the sleeves of the hoodie and rested his body against the table, a small attempt to hide in his mourning. 

 

It had been a long time since he let himself feel like this. He forced himself to swallow his emotions and keep moving on, essentially becoming numb because he had no other way to survive. He was so angry all the time. So bitter. Blaming the world for what had happened to them. For the lives lost and the opportunities missed but in truth he knew it was their decisions in the first place that led them here. They were just a couple of kids who wanted excitement and an escape from all the expectations in their lives. Instead they walked through the gates of hell, incapable of ever escaping with their lives. Miles already paid that price for even trying. His death was a warning to anyone else who planned on leaving Walrider. 

 

A hand rested on his forearm. A gentle touch to soothe and reassure. A honeyed voice entered the air, matching the desire to quell the other’s upset. “I’m offering you the chance to help end this once and for all. This vicious cycle leads to the deaths of more young men like Miles every single day. It needs to stop and we need you to help us put an end to it.” 

 

Waylon took a moment to catch his breath, rubbing furiously at his eyes, no longer caring about the pain in his head or his face. “Why me?” 

 

“You are a smart kid Waylon. You have a specific set of skills that we lack. You have a low profile and are already deep into the group as a runner. We know you operate the links between contacts and you know where everyone in Walrider is.” The detective turned the file around, flipping to a specific page which had the heads of Walrider placed across it in brackets. Each bracket showed a system of networks beneath it. At the very top was “The Boss”, real name was Jeremy Blaire. Beneath him was Richard “Doc” Trager and the Twins. There were micro structures leading out linking to an image of an unknown man nicknamed “Pyro” whom Waylon recognized as an ally for them. 

 

“Him.” Waylon pointed out at Pyro. “I have never met him before but I know he was trying to help Miles leave Walrider.” He bit his bottom lip in thought, seeing that man was linked to ‘Doc’ but he was pretty sure he was helping other people escape the group. Or at least trying to. There were some pictures without names and some names that Waylon recognized that had no pictures beside them. All in all, he was pretty sure he could piece together the entire bracket given a couple days. He would need to run numbers to compare some of them and figure out their locations. “Some of these guys are floaters. Drifters around the city. They don’t linger in the same place for very long.” Part of the reason was because they were terrified of an execution order from ‘The Boss’ catching up with them. The other was to avoid the authorities as much as possible. 

 

“Good. That’s very good Waylon.” The detective praised, offering a smile of approval as the techie was already getting to work. 

 

“You promise you’ll take them down. That all of this will be over with when you do.” Waylon pressed, his words wary as he paused, drawing his hands away from the file as if afraid this would be some big lie once he did what they wanted. He was afraid of going to prison. Especially with a group like Walrider trailing behind him. He was even more terrified of dying the way Miles did. He just wanted his life back. For everything to be the way it used to be but he was just kidding himself with such dreams. 

 

“You have my word, Waylon. Nothing bad will happen to you.” The detective promised, reaching out to offer a gesture of good will. Waylon tensed, chewing his bottom lip to the point of bleeding before he accepted it and nodded in agreement. The detective smiled, closing the file as he moved to get up. “Just relax for right now. I’ll draw up the paperwork declaring your willingness to work for us and everything else will be taken care of from there.” Waylon gave a slow nod, reaching out for his drink once more and swirling the dark liquid at the bottom, watching the cooling froth on top start to harden along the sides. 

 

His attention was drawn back up as the detective spoke once more, offering a pat to the shoulder in the process.“Thank you for your cooperation Waylon.” Waylon nodded again, giving a nervous hum in acknowledgement. “I’ll have a medic in to check on you, alright? You can breathe easy now.”


End file.
